


What to Expect

by NancyBrown



Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Porn Battle, Pregnant Sex, Year That Never Was
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:57:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NancyBrown/pseuds/NancyBrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What to Expect

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XII. Prompts: apartment, pregnant, remember, computer, suit

Her belly is growing every day. Toshiko draws a hand over the swell, watching her knees vanish, and then her feet, hidden by the stretched fabric covering her abdomen. Maternity clothes can be traded for, handed around. Pregnancy vitamins are at a premium, though, and after tomorrow, she'll be out of the ones Ianto stole last month. When rations are tight, it's the best chance she can give the baby. He says he'll try to find more. She says she'd rather he not draw attention to himself and get killed.

Like most of their life together, it's a rough compromise.

His mouth following the movement of her fingers is a different kind of compromise, blowing warmth onto her skin through her clothes. He's got a half-smile, the one that's a little bit devil, a little bit angel, rounding over her like a moon.

"Is she moving?"

"No."

Ianto makes a noise, which vibrates through her. He likes to kiss her belly when the baby is kicking. She likes that the baby will be born knowing the deep cadence of his voice. They've told the other refugees in this camp that they've been married for three years, that her name is Miyu and his David, that they are excited to bring new life into a place that's known so much death. She never says Owen's name, though she dreams about him, and hopes his daughter will have his eyes. Given the lack of medical care available to her, she expects not to live long enough to find out. It's a thing they don't discuss, like the rumours that Jack is being held on the Master's ship, or their fears that Gwen is long dead.

Ianto's lips are warmer as he mouths the skin beneath her dress. His left hand rests on her thigh, not moving, while his eyes ask her permission. They are separated from the other families in this flat by a blanket stretched across the room; a battered old sofa shoved up against a wall serves as their bed, sitting room, office, and soon their nursery. She can hear voices not five feet away going about the business of living in hell. Privacy is a state of mind.

She nods. The hand tickles down to the hem of her dress, and presses up against the cotton of her knickers, rubbing rasping circles against her. His right hand coaxes her knees apart.

His mouth is against her belly, but his eyes are on her face. "Tell me what you want."

I want Owen here. I want my baby born safe in a world where we don't huddle in terror from mechanical monster balls. I want an hour on a computer to write a program to take the bastards down. I want Jack to peel you out of a suit and take away the darkness in your eyes you think I can't see. I want my life back and yours as well, and our friends alive.

"Love me."

The hem of her skirt comes up, to rest primly on her belly. Ianto grinds the heel of his hand against her, pushing her knees up to either side of him.

When his mouth makes contact with her knickers, she bites her lip, and the devil smile is back. The same hot, wet breath as before is soaking her panties. Tosh trembles as the flat of his tongue wets her further.

Around them, life goes on in the flat. Someone is doing the washing up. Someone else is helping a child read a book. In the room next to them, she can hear the steady thump of a bed shaking. The noises are dull background to the feel of his tongue teasing her without undressing her.

He slides beside her body, not over the hump of her, and they kiss gently. His cock is hard and his voice is feather-light: "If you can come without making a sound, I'll get you off twice."

It's a challenge and a dare and it sends fluid in a rush to her cunt as she accepts the terms. His hands find her knickers and work the sodden material off her body to drop on the tiny spot of floor that's theirs. He kisses his way back down her body, and now his tongue has plenty of access, lapping at her, nipping shocks into her. Her labia are blood-swollen and thick as he sucks one side into his mouth, the prickle of his beard shooting the tiniest pricks of pain against her vulva. One finger slides between her outer lips, seeking the tender places inside her vagina, stroking each nerve.

His thumb and the tip of his tongue flick her clitoris at the same moment, and Tosh has to bite her own hand to keep from crying out. Ianto alternates, rocking his hand and flipping his tongue until she's at the edge, until she needs him.

Mary did this, holding her for almost an hour with her fingers and her tongue and her dirty laughs. Owen never did, giving into fast desire in the brief times they shared while Ianto and Gwen pretended not to hear.

She yanks on Ianto's hair, a silent plea to climb up here and fuck her hard. She feels rather than hears his hot chuckle. He pushes in another finger while he sucks the tip of her clit into his mouth, then blows cool air across it. The cold is just what she needs, bursting across her as she keeps herself from thrashing, from rocking him, from making a single noise in her climax. She can't stop the tremors, won't stop him milking them from her with gentle licks.

The baby kicks. Does she like the waves passing through her home? Is she frightened?

Tosh grabs Ianto's hand, the one wet with her, and places it over her belly so he can feel the movement. His eyes burn when the baby kicks under his hand. Tosh knows this part, can unzip him without making a sound, can roll to her side and let him slide up behind her in the narrow sofa. She's so wet, he slides in with ease, and now they must thrust together without moving. It's hard, but oh so worth it as he fills her again and again.

The hand that's trapped under her body holds onto her belly. The other parts her legs, rubbing her clit as he rocks into her, as he pulls out and slams back in. The sofa starts to wiggle.

The voices around them don't change. Maybe they're ignoring Tosh and Ianto as they fuck, maybe they're listening in for gasping breaths held tight, for the whine he makes into her hair, hand fumbling hard to get her off again. Her fingers join his, seeking with ease the right spot.

She wants to hear his voice, wants him to mutter promises and dirty words. She wants to remember what it's like to be with someone she craves instead of someone she loves as a friend. She wants a long, hot bath, and candlelight, and a wedding in the spring.

This has to be enough.

Her fingertip pushes her clit and she convulses in pleasure for a second time. His thrusts never stop. She doesn't know who he's pretending she is, if she's his Jack or his Lisa or some fantasy bimbo, but his arm is tight across her abdomen as he comes, making her sticky and wet and replete.

Before she can relax, there's a high whirring noise, and an insane giggle. The voices in the room stop abruptly as Toclafane zoom in a pack past their high window, bent on chasing someone on the street below them.

She feels Ianto tense behind her, can almost read his thoughts, his desire to go down to those streets and die fighting as uselessly as Owen did, as Gwen surely did when she broke away from them to look for Rhys amongst the ruins.

"Promise me," she says, too quiet for the Toclafane, no doubt loud enough for their flatmates to hear.

He squeezes her. "I won't leave you."

"Promise me that when you go to fight them anyway, that you won't stop me from coming with you." They'll both die. Her baby will die. But maybe someone else can live another day.

"Tosh."

"Promise."

He's silent until the mad balls are gone, until he is soft and withdrawn from her and tucked away, until the voices restart their muttering outside the tattered blanket of their privacy.

"I promise."


End file.
